The slow light of morning traces my fallthrough the atmosphere of my dreams. Arms stretched in hope of graceful flight, Cutting through ancient clouds in descent. Eyes fixed to the canvas that is the sky, filled with burning strokes of desire, Searing through my deepest impulses. My body mourns its separation from the fabric of the night , For it clothes a raw tenderness pronounced shameful in daylight.
There is longing in me, of that there is little doubt. It is the thread that runs through these pages I've filled as I gaze in wonder through moving perspex and a carriage carries me through a network of routine. This pen is the very voice of my existence and this pad, the necessary ears that bear witness to the depths of me. Together we speak beyond the tedium that renders our souls unconscious. Through the barriers of fear and hostility that keep us at a distance from one another. This morning I found myself enveloped in a mist of sorrow, filling my chest with each step to the station. As I sat by the window, I felt its weight crystallize within and speak to me of its presence.
"You say there's no greater purpose than living for the joy of others. But who covets your smile with the grace of the wind and reaches for the very hand that livens your pen? You say you have no need ...but here I am, A harbinger of a leaden morning."
I tell myself that I have no need for wanting. That my resources are infinite in my capacity to share all I have. That I have and will action a better life for others with sincere altruism. "What of me?", a voice percolates through the rivers of thought. Its grip holds my unsuspecting heart without relent. It forces into memory, the ache of solitude. Speaking of desire so deep that my words would lose direction in its pursuit. A bitterness reaches my eyes as disappointment glazes my view. In this moment I am an aching victim of circumstance, an offering without a taker. A disillusioned soul questioning the fate of those whose hearts and voices align with a precision that strikes fear where bliss ought bloom.
For suspicion appears to pierce every interaction in seek of motive. Is the richness of life lost if not shared? I have disposed of the past and the harrowing distortions that rendered me lone by choice. A great friend to those in need, till the need alters and recedes with the tides of circumstance. This longing to share is not one that I am blind to, nor is it one that I take lightly. But is there not a need for recognition? Must there be shame in plain speaking? Must every gesture of affection be tainted with calculation and motive? Are my notions of affection only safe beneath the lids of my imagination? I question with nary an audience to give reply.
I admit to myself in this haze, that I dream of a woman that embraces these fields of emotion that I roam. She is faceless in my imagination, for I have little want for deceiving skin and its veiling path. There is much compromise when our time is spent catering to the fancy of our eyes. For beauty is felt in the marrow of our being, not merely at the surface of our senses. She is no savior or joyous destination, she is a voice that is etched in my consciousness. Both bravery and tenderness find a home in its sweet sound. The bravery of honesty in releasing a heart's content and the pure tenderness of loving another without restraint. Our sounds resonate with a deep understanding of the many distractions enforced upon our humanity.
The complication of profound simplicity would have no place in our halls. We will hear music in the spaces of our hearts that were filled with the silence of solitude. I wonder if these dreams are the prisons of thought in which men like me reside. Calling the roots of truth bitter in light of the nectar of one’s dreams. But perhaps this longing is all I will have to cherish on this path I tread. It is not a longing fixed to the chains of want but a desire for ones presence to be truly felt.
In the midst of these murky moments in time, my eyes fixed upon the grey clouds of the morning. They loomed ominously as I searched the horizon for the rising sun. Suddenly my eyes traced its circular glow behind the sheets of grey. The clouds appeared to part with reluctance as the sun shone with pristine intensity, its yellow brilliance filled my eyes with tears. For I felt it in the depths of me - my longing was the glow on the face of the sun. There were no words and no space for shame in its presence.